[Illustration: And there we sat, calmly munching the apples.]
"Are—are you the man they are hunting for?" she asked abruptly.
"I never stole anything more terrible than green apples—and ripe ones"—with a nod toward the apple-bin.
"Pardon me! I feel very guilty in asking you such a question. You haven't told me your name."
"Haven't I? My name is Richard Comstalk. My friends call me Dickey."
"Dickey," she murmured. "It's a nice name."
"Won't you have another apple?" I asked impulsively.
"My appetite is appeased, thank you."
An idea came to me. "Hamilton said there were three tens of hearts. That meant that only one was out of order. Where did you get your card?"
"That I shall tell you—later."